Death is Nothing (But to Live Defeated is to Die Daily)
by queermageddon
Summary: There is nothing worse than suffering the loss of a loved one, especially if they're still there...you just can't be with them. Written for the Skyeward Christmas Fic Fest! Angst with fluff and a happy ending!


" _Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching the crowds for your face - I know it's an impossibility, but I cannot help myself."_

― _Nicholas Sparks_ _,_ _Message in a Bottle_

* * *

 _Grant woke up to the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. He couldn't stop the genuine smile from appearing on his face nor could he stop the warmth from blossoming inside of him as he listened to the familiar sound, the overwhelming flash of happiness energizing him to quickly get out of bed and pull on his boxers that had been discarded the night before._

 _Grant found Skye cooking breakfast, laughing at something on the television as she cut up some fruit. Grant leaned against the kitchen entryway with his arms crossed and a soft expression on his face. She hadn't noticed his presence yet, giving him a few minutes to just watch her. They had been together for over a year yet Grant still found himself wondering how he got so lucky. Skye was the best thing to ever happen to him._

 _Grant didn't have a happy childhood. His parents had led him to believe that he was undeserving of any kind of love. His older brother tortured him and his younger brother. When he met Skye, he was broken and filled with anger and resentment. The attraction to her was immediate, but he never thought she would stick around. He was sure that she would bolt when she found who he really was, but she didn't. She didn't bolt when he revealed his painful past. She didn't bolt when he took his anger out on her. She didn't even bolt the first time she met his family. Instead, after every rocky incident, she wrapped him in her arms and whispered words of love, encouragement, and compassion in his ears._

 _Skye helped him work through the trauma of his past and proved to him that he deserved love. As their relationship grew stronger, he began to see things in his future that he would have never thought about before Skye. He began to imagine marriage and kids, he dreamed about a two-story house with a white fence and a dog. He might be jumping ahead, considering they weren't even living together yet, but he couldn't wait to build a future and a family together._

 _Grant was pulled from his thoughts when a strawberry hit him. Skye was smiling mischievously at him._

 _"Hey, stud. You going to stand there and stare at me all day or are you going to come over here and help me?" Grant smiled before walking over to where she was still cutting the fruit and wrapped his arms around her waist. Instinctively, Skye leaned back into him. She tilted her head slightly up so she could nuzzle his neck._

" _Breakfast smells delicious," he whispered before kissing her head. He closed his eyes and sighed in content as the familiar fluttering in his stomach began. Grant really had no clue what he would do if he lost Skye. It was a thought that - although he didn't like to think about - on occasion found its way into his brain and caused him to shudder._

 _Skye snorted and elbowed him playfully._

 _"It's fruit and yogurt. It's not like I cooked a three-course meal."_

 _"Hmm...well, if anything, it's a two-course meal. Fruit and yogurt and then you." Grant nibbled on her earlobe, causing her to laugh and squirm._

" _Sorry Charlie, I have this terrible thing called work in an hour."_

" _We could always multitask," he mumbled against her neck suggestively. Skye turned around in his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck. Grant's throat grew thick as Skye flashed him her signature flirty smile._

 _"Oh, I bet we could, but…"_

" _But?" He raised an eyebrow at her._

" _I'm really enjoying this show," she nodded her head toward the television. She smiled teasingly at him._

 _Grant scoffed in mock offense._

" _Oh, you're asking for it." He warned before tickling her waist. She laughed and tried to squirm away from him._

" _Oh, my god," she laughed breathlessly. "Grant stop! I-"_

"Mr. Ward? Mr. Ward!"

"What?" Grant turned away from his floor to ceiling office windows to see his secretary, Donna, standing by the door. "I'm sorry, what did you say Donna?"

"I said I was heading to lunch. Was there anything you need?"

"Oh… no, thank you. Enjoy your lunch." Grant gave her a small, mirthless smile - the only smile he could bear to give - before he turned back towards the windows.

It was a stormy day. The sky above was dark - the only light to break through was a strike of lightning every few minutes. The sound of thunder rumbled loudly, shaking the city below. It wasn't raining yet, but Grant knew it would soon. It wasn't cold enough outside for snow, but it was for icy roads. Wrecks would happen and people would die. The worst part of all was that there was no way anyone could know that getting in their car to run an errand, pick up the kids from school, or head home from work could be the last thing they would do.

That was how tragedies worked. They happened in the blink of the eye, at random, and there was nothing that could be done to stop it. Grant discovered that the hard way. He discovered it when -...

Grant shook his head.

He didn't want to think about that. Living life was hard enough without constantly thinking about what was taken from him. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. After a minute or two, when it was clear that it wouldn't work, he opened his eyes and stared at nothing in particular.

He remained at his office windows, with his arms hung limply at his side until the rain began to beat against the window. Once the hard rain hindered his view, he turned and walked to his desk. He slumped down tiredly and began to sort through the paperwork he had been neglecting.

Grant lost track of time as he slowly went through the motions of sorting his paperwork. He only snapped out of his reverie when Donna stuck her head in his office to say goodbye.

"Have a pleasant night, sir." The look she gave him before she left, was one of pity. Grant should be used to that look by now. It was one he had been getting for almost six months now. Still, he couldn't help the rigid posture that came over him. He bit his cheek, to prevent from saying something he would regret, and nodded at Donna sharply. Once she left, he tried to relax so he could finish his paperwork. He was just starting to unwind when the worst thing that could happen, did happen.

"Hello, brother," Christian said as he entered Grant's office without knocking.

"Christian." Grant greeting was sharp. "Why are you here?"

"Straight to the point, I see," Christian snarked before sitting himself in the chair across from Grant.

"Yes, because I don't have time to deal with you," Grant fired back. He leaned back in his chair and looked at his older brother with narrowed eyes.

"I'm offended. Regardless, I'm not here on my own volition. Mother sent me."

"Of course, you were always good at doing her bidding," You could almost feel the room grow colder, yet Christian ignored this new barbed remark.

"She wants you to come over for dinner. She says you've avoided the family long enough."

"Right, and when she says jump, I'm supposed to jump?" Grant tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "That will happen when hell freezes over." Christian sighed and stood up.

"Well little brother, hell is freezing over then. Mom wants you at the house tomorrow at 8 p.m." Christian buttoned his suit jacket and turned to leave Grant's office. He stopped when he reached the door and turned back towards Grant.

"It's been six weeks, Grant. It's time to get over whatever her name was." Surprise registered only fractionally before unadulterated wrath settled into Grant, taking root in his very soul, his hands and fingertips having been resting on his desk, grew white with pressure as he slowly pulled himself out of his chair, the tense muscles in his face, his shoulders, arms, and chest growing taut with effort to restrain himself, and at the apex of his movement, his hands were balled into fists at his side. His blood boiled, the instinct to fight kicking in, the desire to give into the purity of his rage.

"Get. Out." Grant's words barely made it through his clenched teeth, his anger flaring through him like a barely controlled tide, pressing outward from within him, his muscles aching for release, his eyes fixated on the most likely target for ventilation. He stood up slowly, waiting for the opportunity to punch that stupid, smug look on his older brother's face. Christian just smiled cruelly at him before leaving his office.

Before Grant could regain control of his emotions, he whirled around and smashed his fist into the wall.

 _Fuck, you need to get it together..._ he mentally said to himself as he slumped into his chair and shook his head slowly, his hand throbbing as a reminder of his lost control. Honestly, he wasn't even sure why he bothered with his brother. Christian's sole purpose in life was to make him miserable. He'd known that since he was a child. There was a time, not too long ago, when Grant would just roll his eyes at his brother's never ending tactics to torture him. But that time was long gone, along with any fight he used to have when encountering his family. It took more effort to continuously quarrel with his family than it did to just show up, take whatever horrid insults they threw, and go home. That was how Grant knew that he would be at his parent's house tomorrow for dinner. Life was so fucking great.

…

By the time Grant managed to calm himself down enough to be able to focus on things, it was close to 7 p.m. The rain had stopped momentarily, but thunder still rumbled in the sky, signaling that the storm wasn't over yet.

It was pleasant, engrossing himself in the drive home, allowing distraction to pull his mind away from the dull ache in his chest, the empty void inside of him that begged to be filled. As he arrived at the house he lived in, he found the blank distraction of his drive lasted about three steps inside before the overwhelming sense of memory pulled him from his reverie, the smells reminding him of loss, the sights bringing fresh agony to his wounded heart. As his eyes scanned the dark and unnaturally still living room, he was once again reminded of what he was returning home too. Nothing.

He stood silently just inside the door, casting his looks around the empty rooms. With a deep sigh, he forced himself to commit to the intricacies of his nightly routine. He hung his jacket on the coat rack that he didn't buy because he thought it was useless, he drug himself to the fridge, cracking it open, pretending to consider getting a water before pulling out a beer. Alcohol didn't help, but it sure made sleeping easier. It took the edge off of the pain. The unceasing, fathomless pain.

 _This house_ , he thought, _is not my home. Home is where the heart is. Mine hasn't been here for...some time._

He'd only managed to take a few sips of his beer before he threw the bottle, with more force than necessary, into the sink. The bottle shattered and the beer splattered on the surrounding counters and wall. For a moment, Grant stared blankly at the mess he had made. He contemplated cleaning it up, but in the end, he left his kitchen and headed towards the door. He grabbed his coat and left - purposely leaving the door unlocked. He didn't care if someone broke in. They could take everything if they wanted. It was all meaningless to him.

He wasn't sure where he was going, but truthfully, that didn't matter to him. Anywhere was better than his house.

Grant used to have a life, a future, that he looked forward to. Getting up in the morning used to be easy because he had a reason too: Skye.

He never knew love before her. He never believed he would find someone who would bear the burden of his family, to see and meet the horrible place where he came from, and still love him until Skye came tumbling into his life quite literally.

He loved her with every fiber of his being, as clichéd as that sounded. He wanted to marry her, start a family with her, and live a life that he never had as a child.

When he was with Skye, he completely lost track of time all the time. Going to sleep and waking up wrapped in her arms always had him feeling safe. He spent so much time imagining their future together, he never stopped and asked what would happen if she wasn't in his life. If she was just...gone.

He had never considered himself lucky - especially considering the torture he suffered as a child - so it shouldn't be surprising that his only hope would be ripped away from him too. And now he was stuck in his own personal hell, going through the same routine, and stuck dealing with his family.

…

Now miles away, Grant walked into a grocery store. He didn't need anything, of course, but perhaps the monotony of shopping would distract him from the frustration that seemed to never cease building within him. He found himself thinking about the items he did have, which was mostly beer and water, of course. He pushed a buggy along each aisle, eyes passing unfocused over plentiful shelves, present physically, but mind drifting away into blank daydreams. He rounded the aisle with drinks, passed by the baking aisle, as he never had the desire, much less the talent for baking, and was going to the chip aisle... _wait…_

 _Wait._

His brain almost forced his body backward in curious confusion. He leaned back and, mind now focused, he laid eyes on none other than Melinda May Coulson herself, someone he once considered a future mother in law, someone he thought he'd see often into the future, the mother of his one love, Skye.

His stomach rolled and he could taste the bile on the back of his tongue. A cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He was not ready to see her and he assumed she would not be ready to see him.

It had been a while since they spoke. A long while. Healing takes time and the wound of the accident was fresh, especially to them, her parents. Things became heated when they found out what happened, even so far as Phil, her father, asking him to stay away from the family.

Of course, Grant wanted nothing more than for communication to begin again, for reconciliation and understanding to grow, for he hurt too. That was something that took root inside of him, that through all of this, the Coulson's acted like he didn't hurt like he wasn't _suffering_. Grant's eyes narrowed as bitterness bit at his heart, trying to fill the void within him, suffusing itself into anger. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in an effort to calm himself. He understood why they asked what they did to him, but sometimes he became overwhelmed, his hurt turning into anger. Lashing out wouldn't help anyone, especially not him.

He began to feel his heart rate slow, and Melinda had yet to notice him, so he quickly turned his buggy around. He figured it would be best if he didn't speak to her. He was determined to get on with his shopping and go back to his empty home, without the love of his life, to an evil, heartless family that tortured him for something they frankly couldn't understand before Melinda could notice his presence.

However, he'd only managed to turn around and take one step before he stopped dead in his drop of emotion, turmoil, and thought left him, drained from him like someone had pulled the plug. His mind was completely blank. He knew his jaw was open and his eyes were wide. His face resembled that of a deer caught in a headlight. He knew he shouldn't, but before he could stop, he opened his mouth and whispered her name.

"Skye."

Skye stopped and stared at him, confusion clear in her eyes. She was holding some seasoning in her hand - he recognized it immediately. It was a spice Melinda preferred to use when she was cooking certain meals.

He could hear Melinda's quick footsteps approaching. Her face was colored with worried as she eyed him cautiously when she made her way to her daughter. She looked as if she wanted to say something, but before she could, Skye spoke.

"I'm sorry." Her voice sent shivers down Grant's back. It had felt like an eternity since he'd heard her. "Do I know you?" Her head was tilted, her uncertainty and curiosity, her brow was furrowed, and her eyes were narrowed as she tried to recall who he was. It was no use, though. He knew that she was nothing more than a stranger to her. He looked from her to Melinda, and back to her before shaking his head.

"No, no you don't. I'm sorry." He turned to make a quick exit, but before he did, he saw her nodding her head slowly and watching him suspiciously. She didn't believe him, but he couldn't really tell her who he was.

The doctors diagnosed her with post-traumatic amnesia after the accident. They couldn't tell Grant when, or even if, she would get her memories back. They just told him that the past several years - their entire life together - was gone from her memory and that she needed time.

" _Remain hopeful,"_ the doctors had said. _"She has a good chance of getting her memories back."_

Yeah...a good chance. Until that happened, he had to live his life without her, knowing she was out there, but he couldn't be with her.

Grant left his buggy near the entrance of the store and took off out of the door. He had barely rounded the corner of the store before he emptied what little he had in his stomach on the concrete and collapsing onto the ground.

With his back pressed against the rough brick and his hands buried in his hand, he did something he hadn't done in a long time. He cried.

He cried for himself, for Skye, for their lost love. His stomach knotted in deeply rooted agony and his vision darkened as he tried to catch his breath. He had tried so hard to hold himself together, but he couldn't do it anymore. So, he sat on the cold ground outside of the grocery store alone, and just let go of everything he had been holding in.

Once he had nothing left, he slowly made his way to his car - stumbling weakly a few times along the way. He slumped into his front seat and started his car, but he did not make a move to put the car into drive. Instead, he sat motionless, with his hands resting heavily on the steering wheel. Desire touched him, pulling him home to sleep, but he knew that the memories of what was lost would haunt him. So, he remained still, staring at his windshield, his vacant eyes staring back at him as he simply just existed.

* * *

 **I want to thank my best friend Paul for editing this, helping me with ideas, and helpinhg me work through the parts I had trouble with. You're the best.**

 **Follow me on Tumblr at queermageddon! Part two will be posted soon!**


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